


Hippy & Punk: The Amazing Adventures of Blair & Joe

by sister_wolf



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), The Sentinel, The X-Files, X-Men (Movies), due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-04-10
Updated: 2004-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/sister_wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know, I think you have the wrong guys," Blair said earnestly. "See, I'm a graduate student, and Joe here is-- what exactly are you, Joe?"</p><p>"A rock star," Joe growled, glaring at their guards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING! This is not finished and never will be finished. Not that that really matters much... *g*

_Location: Somewhere over Canadian soil._

"You know, I think you have the wrong guys," Blair said earnestly. "See, I'm a graduate student, and Joe here is-- what exactly are you, Joe?"

"A rock star," Joe growled, glaring at their guards.

This sucked. He'd been on his way to buy milk-- and strawberries, 'cause they tended to make Ray horny-- when he'd run into the little motormouthed hippy, who he knew vaguely from some cop get-together Ray had dragged him to. Blair had been tagging along after him like a puppy-- a persistent, yappy one, at that-- when thugs in black had poured out of a van and snatched them right off the street. They'd been knocked unconscious, and the next time they awoke, they were in the cargo area of a plane, with three gun-toting goons watching them. Not tied up or anything-- apparently they weren't considered dangerous enough to bother restraining.

"Right, a rock star. But not a very successful one. No money, see?" Blair gestured at Joe's ragged sweater and threadbare jeans.

Joe scowled. "Fuck that. Hard Core Logo may not be _monetarily_ successful," he said scornfully, "but only corporate weasels care about--"

"Right!" Blair interrupted brightly. "See? You've got the wrong guys! So you can just let us go and we'll forget this ever happened, okay?"

"I don't think that's going to be an option, Blair," a silky voice murmured. Two tall, handsome men, a blonde and a brunette, entered the cargo area through the door that led further into the plane. The blonde waved the gun-toting goons out and closed the door behind them. Joe immediately dubbed him "Blondie" and the brunette "Leather Boy."

Joe nudged Blair in the side with his elbow, muttering, "Who the fuck are these assholes?" Blair just shook his head, staring at Blondie with narrowed, angry eyes.

"It's so good to see you again, Blair. It's been too long," Blondie said, smiling with pleasant malignance.

"Where are you taking us? Where's Jim?" Blair demanded.

Joe tuned out the rest of the conversation-- _blah blah Sentinel blah blah you'll never get away with this blah blah_ \-- and checked out Leather Boy. Oh yeah, that was a mouth he'd like to see wrapped around _his_ cock. "Hey there."

The brunette sneered at him. "What do you want?"

"You," Joe answered, running his eyes slowly over that long, lean body.

"Not a chance." Leather Boy sounded irritated, but amused at the same time.

"You sure about that?" Joe dropped his voice to a raspy, intimate growl. "I could show you a real... good... time."

Leather Boy actually looked tempted for a moment-- ( _the Dick strikes again_ , Joe gloated)-- but shook his head finally, smiling a little.

The plane's engines suddenly sounded different-- were they descending? Blondie grabbed a weirdly-shaped backpack, strapped it around himself, and opened a door in the side of the plane. Bitingly cold wind screamed in through the door.

"My associate will be escorting you the rest of the way to your destination. Goodbye, Blair! Good luck!" Blondie waved cheerily and stepped out into thin air.

Joe glanced at Leather Boy, noticing that his attention was on Blondie, not on him. Clasping his hands together, he made a fist of them and slammed them into the back of the brunette's head as hard as he possibly could. Leather Boy dropped like a stone.

"Nice shot! Where'd you learn that-- the army or something?" Blair asked, looking impressed.

Joe shook his hands out, wincing. "Hockey practice."

Blair nodded. "Cool, man. Hey, give me a hand with this." They shoved a heavy crate in front of the door into the rest of the airplane-- it wasn't much, but it'd at least give them some warning before the gun-toting goons returned.

Blair crossed to the open doorway and squinted out into the blindingly white daylight. "Okay, we're gonna have to jump."

"What? Are you out of your fucking _mind_?" Joe unbuckled Leather Boy's belt, copping a quick feel-- nice package-- and using the belt to tie the unconscious man's arms behind his back.

"It's the only way out of here. The guys up front have _guns_ , and they're not going to hesitate to use them on us. Plus you do _not_ want to go where they're taking us."

"And you think we have any chance of surviving throwing ourselves out of a fucking _airplane_?"

"It's our only chance. And hey, you never know-- it could be fun," Blair said, grinning.

Joe sighed and kicked Leather Boy in the ribs. "Fuck. Fine. You know, I always kinda figured I'd die fucking a hooker after doing an eight ball..." he muttered, joining Blair at the open doorway.

The interior door rattled suddenly. Joe could hear shouts, followed by the thud of someone slamming his shoulder into it.

"C'mon, man, we've gotta jump _now_!" Blair yelled, grabbing Joe's hand.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Joe closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and jumped.


	2. Chapter 2

_Location: Somewhere in the Canadian wilderness._

Quite honestly, Joe hadn't expected to survive the jump. So it was with no small amount of astonishment that he found himself staring up at a sliver of pale blue sky from the bottom of a deep, body-shaped depression in the snow. "Mother _fuck_ ," he murmured reverently.

Once he'd managed to dig himself out, he took a look around, squinting against the blinding brightness of the sunlight. Snow, snow, and more snow, with no end to it in sight.

The hippy's curly head popped up nearby. "Man!" Blair exclaimed, shaking snow out of his hair. "That was one hell of a rush!"

"Not bad. I've had better," Joe said dismissively, rummaging through the pockets of Leather Boy's jacket.

"Where'd you get that?" Blair asked, wandering over.

"Leather Boy. That guy I knocked out, I took his coat. I didn't have enough time to steal his boots, though. Those were some nice fuckin' boots." He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of one of the pockets. "Fantastic," he said, slipping them on.

"Hey, man, could I have that jacket when you're done with it? Kinda freezing to death, here." Blair shoved his hands into his armpits and hunched his shoulders.

Joe scowled at him. "I stole it, fair and square. It's mine."

"Yeah, but you already have a coat, and I don't," Blair said, gesturing from Joe's black wool coat to his own thin, worn flannel shirt.

Joe sighed, considering the leather jacket. It was kinda cool, in a yuppy-ish sort of way. "Fuckin' pussy-boy jacket anyway," he declared, shoving it at Blair's chest.

"Thanks, man, that's real generous of you," Blair said, putting the jacket on.

Joe eyed him narrowly. He was almost certain that was sarcasm. Before he could make up his mind whether or not to kick the hippy's ass, the sound of a gun cocking came from behind them.

"I hate to interrupt this touching scene, but if the two of you would please put your hands over your head and turn around slowly? That's right," Blondie said, smiling pleasantly. He stood about fifteen feet away from them, with a gun held casually in one hand.

"Well, _fuck_ ," Joe muttered.

"Brackett," Blair sneered, his nose wrinkled like he'd just smelled something particularly foul.

"Sandburg," Blondie sneered right back. "And your new friend, what's-his-name."

"Joe Dick," Joe growled. "Singer. Songwriter."

"Joe _Dick_? You have got to be kidding me. I send them to pick up a Sentinel and Guide and they bring me a Guide with no Sentinel, but a bonus street punk with delusions of rockstardom. You just can't get good help these days," Brackett sighed, shaking his head regretfully.

Right then and there, Joe decided that Blondie had to die. Kidnap him, hold him at gunpoint, sure-- but no prettyboy asshole got away with all that _and_ insulting Hard Core Logo.

"Thanks to your incompetent thugs, Bracket, Jim is still out there," Blair said. "He'll track you down no matter where you take us. And when he does..."

"Oh, I'm counting on it, Blair. After all, it's not much of a Sentinel project if I only have one Sentinel to experiment on, now is it?"

"You've got a Sentinel?" Blair asked, blanching.

"Smart boy! And now I've got a Guide, too. You're going to help me whether you want to or not. Now move it," Brackett ordered, waving the gun impatiently.

They stumbled through the snow for a few hours, Brackett checking some sort of electronic doohickey every twenty minutes or so to make sure they were still going in the right direction. At last they could see trees and some kind of gray wall off in the distance.

Blair stumbled heavily and collapsed into the snow. "Ow, _fuck_ , man!"

"Get up, Sandburg," Brackett snapped.

"I can't," Blair moaned.

"Get up or I'll shoot you, Sandburg!" Brackett stomped over to him and pointed the gun at his head.

"No, seriously, man, I _can't_. I think I broke my ankle." Sitting up carefully, Blair gasped and turned white as he stretched his leg out in front of him.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now, carry you?"

"You could rig a travois or something..."

"Oh, this is just perfect!" Brackett yelled, gesturing wildly. "First they don't even manage to capture the right guy, then they let you escape, and now this! What next?" he demanded, throwing his hands in the air.

It was at that moment that Joe shot him.

Brackett went down with a surprised yell, dropping his gun.

"Huh. It really is just like playing _Area 51_ ," Joe said, walking over to where Brackett lay bleeding from a wound high in his right shoulder.

"You learned how to shoot a gun by playing an arcade game?" Blair asked incredulously.

"Yep."

"Nice shot."

"Thanks." Joe kicked Bracket in the side, adding somewhat regretfully, "Well, I _was_ aiming for his head, but close enough, I guess."

"Where'd you get the gun from?" Blair asked, standing up without any sign of difficulty or pain.

"Leather Boy. It wasn't as loud as I expected-- figure this thing on the end is a silencer?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Fuckin' fantastic."

Several minutes later, Brackett moaned and opened his eyes. Joe smiled and waved cheerfully with one hand, keeping a gun pointed at Brackett's head with the other. Swearing under his breath, Brackett tugged futilely at his bound wrists.

"Don't bother, Brackett," Blair said. "Joe's pretty good with knots. You're not going to get out of those."

Joe grinned smugly. Ray could never manage to get out of his knots either. Not that he generally tried too hard, mind you.

Brackett glared at them. "What do you want, Blair?"

"You're going to help us rescue the Sentinel you've got imprisoned."

"Or what? You'll talk me to death?"

"Or I'll let Joe do whatever he wants to you."

Joe smiled pleasantly, showing all of his teeth. Brackett sneered at him. "Yeah? I'm supposed to be scared of some wanna-be rock star?"

Joe stepped closer, using the gun to outline the shape of Brackett's body in the air. "That's punk rock star, motherfucker. Do what I say or fucking die. Now, I've never used a gun before, but I'm starting to like the feel of it, and I think I might need some target practice." Joe traced a path from Brackett's knees to his groin, and then to his head. "Of course, I might miss, might hit something fuckin' fatal... guess that's just a chance we'll have to take."

Brackett jerked his head in Blair's direction, fear in his eyes. "You're not seriously going to let him shoot me, are you?"

Blair shrugged. "Hey man, he's the guy with the gun. How'm I supposed to stop him?"

Later, as they followed Brackett through the woods, Blair dropped back and asked quietly, "I might regret asking this, but... You were kidding about the target practice, right?"

Joe lit another cigarette from the pack he'd found in Leather Boy's coat. Morley's. Not bad. "Nope."

"Oh, good." Blair said faintly. "I knew I shouldn't have asked..."

Joe grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

_Location: Outside the Secret Lair of the Bad Guys._

"I've got a foot in the gutter and I'm gonna make a mess outta you," Joe sang quietly.

"Stop singing! We're sneaking, remember? Sneaking implies being _quiet_ ," Blair whispered.

"Yeah, well, sneaking also apparently involves being completely fucking _bored_ ," Joe muttered. "Can't we just go shoot someone now?"

"And here I thought you couldn't possibly find anyone less stealthy than Jim Ellison, Blair. Looks like I was wrong," Brackett snarked.

"Shut up," Joe and Blair hissed simultaneously.

They were crouched under the cover of some uncomfortably prickly bushes, looking down on the back entrance to the secret base.

Blair sighed long-sufferingly. "Like I said, the plan is for us to wait until someone leaves--"

"This plan fucking sucks." Joe fiddled with his baseball cap, trying to tug it down so that his ears were at least a little covered and protected from the wind. The Dick's sex appeal was a powerful thing, but even it might not survive losing his ears to frostbite.

"Like I said, the plan is to _wait quietly_ until someone leaves and then take their ID card. Simple. All you have to do is sit still and be quiet. Think you can do that?"

"Listen, hippy-boy, I said it was a shitty plan from the beginning--"

"Think you can come up with a better one, Johnny Rotten?"

"That's it, fucker!" Joe was about to launch himself at the hippy when the sudden sound of large guns being cocked nearby caught his attention.

Joe froze and looked up. Leather Boy and several black-clad thugs with automatic weapons stood in a loose circle around them. "Drop the gun," Leather Boy ordered.

"Fuck." Joe dropped the gun. This sucked. He'd really liked that gun.

Leather Boy stepped forward and retrieved the gun from the snow. "Brackett," he said flatly.

"Krycek. About time you showed up." Joining his thugs, Brackett sneered at Blair and Joe. "You two are the most incompetent bunglers I've ever had the displeasure to be stuck with."

"And yet we were able to take you captive," Blair pointed out.

"Yeah, how's the shoulder doing, Brackett?" Joe smirked.

Brackett scowled at them. Turning to Krycek, he ordered, "Throw them in a cell. Together."

"Together?" Krycek asked, sounding bored.

"Yes. If we're lucky, they'll kill each other."

*

The cell door slammed behind them. Joe glared at it, then glared at the tiny, bare cell they'd been thrown into, then glared at Blair for good measure. Blair was pressed up against the cell door, yelling through the tiny, eyelevel opening in the door that this was illegal and a violation of the Geneva Convention (whatever the fuck _that_ was). "And imprisoning me in the same cell with _him_ constitutes cruel and unusual punishment!"

A metal plate snicked over the opening in the door, leaving them entirely cut off from the outside world. Blair slumped visibly and turned to take a good look at the room. Joe was already sprawled on the cell's only cot, his ankles crossed and his hands tucked comfortably under his head.

"Oh, man. This sucks," Blair moaned, sliding down the door to sit on the cold cement floor.

"Yep." Joe stared thoughtfully up at the only source of light in the room, a fluorescent panel recessed into the ceiling. There weren't any handy ventilation ducts in the walls. Weren't there always ventilation ducts big enough to crawl through in prison cells? Apparently these guys hadn't gotten the memo.

"I wonder how Jim is doing. I wonder if they have any idea where we are. I mean, I'm not even sure where we are, but I'm sure Jim will figure it out..."

 _Fuck, not again._ Joe tried to tune out the little hippy by running songs through his head. "Plug me in, to your block heater..."

"Not again. Do you have to sing?" Blair complained, glaring at him.

Giving him the finger, Joe continued, "Plug me in, cause I think I'm leaving..."

"It wouldn't be so bad if you were anywhere near on key. Seriously, man, I don't know how you're making it as a professional singer, cause you have some serious vocal issues..."

"I just can't wait to get away! Plug me in..."

*

Several hours later.

"I'm tired of waking up tired, waking up tired, yeah, waking up tired..." Blair had finally given in and was sitting next to the cot singing along with Joe. The song trailed off. Blair stared at his hands. Joe stared at the ceiling.

"So. You wanna fuck?"

"Fuck! No, I do not want to have sex with you! What is it with you, man, we're trapped in this cell so suddenly you feel the need to act out every shitty prison movie you've ever seen?"

Blair continued yammering. Joe scowled up at the ceiling.

"Fuck, I was just asking..."

*

A few hours later.

The fluorescent light went out. Joe and Blair blinked against the sudden inky blackness of the cell.

"Huh."

"Well, fuck."

"Lights out, I guess."

"No shit."

A pause. Blair felt his way over to the cot. "Shove over, man. There is no way I'm sleeping on this cement floor."

"Fuck. Fine." Joe scooted over on the narrow cot.

"Are you hogging the bed?" Blair wedged himself into the few available inches of space. His left hip and arm were hanging off the cot.

"Fuck. C'mere." Joe rolled onto his side. With much ominous squeaking of the cot frame, they arranged themselves into the only workable position for two people on a narrow cot: on their sides with Joe spooned around Blair.

Silence for a few minutes. Blair worked on his yoga breathing.

"So. You wanna fuck?"

"Oh, fuck you!"

Silence for a few moments. "Was that a yes?"

"Argh!"


	4. Chapter 4

_Location: Inside the Secret Lair of the Bad Guys._

Blair slowly drifted awake, feeling wonderfully warm and comfortable. His head was resting on someone's upper arm. His legs were tangled with that same person's legs-- a male someone, apparently, since given their respective positions there was no way he could miss the feeling of morning wood pressing against his stomach. "Jim?" he muttered sleepily, rubbing his face against his impromptu pillow.

"If I pretend that I'm Jim, will you give me a blowjob?"

Blair let out an inarticulate squawk and nearly tumbled off the cot.

"I take it that's a no?" Joe asked, leering.

"No! I mean, yes, it's a no!" The lights were back on. Blair sat on the edge of the cot and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. _It is way too fucking early in the morning for me to be dealing with this shit._ "Don't you ever fucking give up?" _And now I'm starting to swear constantly too. This is so totally his fault._

Joe appeared to think about it. "Nope."

"Great. Listen, I believe in the power of positive thinking too, but trust me, you might as well give up now, because the answer will always be _no_." There was an ominous silence behind him. A _thinking_ sort of silence. Blair turned around

Joe's eyes were narrowed and he seemed to be chewing on his lower lip. "Mmmm," he said noncommittally.

"Er." Blair ran through his last sentence in his mind. "That wasn't, like, a challenge or anything."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm, uh, I'm getting the feeling you're pretty competitive." Blair said, edging away.

"I can be."

"Fuck."

Joe smiled.

*

The problem was, after that, Joe didn't _do_ anything. No more "wanna fuck?" or anything like that. He just... watched Blair. Constantly. Which was seriously freaking Blair out, and kinda turning him on at the same time. Which freaked him out even more.

Because there was no way in hell he was attracted to Joe Dick. He didn't like bad-tempered assholes who used their size and strength to intimidate people and liked to wave guns around and... Um. Well, no. Jim was nothing like Joe. Jim was _nice_.

The phrase "damning with faint praise" ran through his mind. Blair tried his best to ignore it, and Joe, until the sound of the cell door opening started his mind whirling in an entirely different direction.

Three soldiers in camouflage fatigues, carrying big guns, stood outside the open cell door. "You're to come with us," the tallest soldier, who would have been rather cute if not for the fact that he was carrying a _big fucking gun_ , said politely.

"Um. Which one of us?" Blair asked uneasily.

"You." The soldier smiled pleasantly (once again, the general effect being spoiled by the large automatic weapon he casually carried in one hand).

"Oh." Blair glanced at Joe desperately, trying to figure out if he had any sort of plan. Maybe he could pretend that he was sick and then when the soldiers came in they could hit them over the head with... something.

"Have fun," Joe said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to Blair's look of entreaty.

"Thanks a lot, Joe," Blair hissed. Slowly, he crossed to the door of the cell. The tall guard took him courteously by the arm and escorted him down the hallway. Behind him, he could hear the cell door thunking closed.

*

"Pssst!"

The sound came from a ventilation duct low on the right-hand wall (much too small to be crawled through, Joe had discovered, to his frustration, the previous day).

"Pssst! Hey, you!"

Joe contemplated ignoring whoever it was and finishing his nap instead. Nah. He'd gotten more than enough sleep and besides, he was bored. Leisurely, he wandered over to the ventilation duct and sat down next to it. "Yeah? Whaddaya want?"

"Who sent you?" The voice was male, American, and suspicious.

Joe leaned against the wall and stretched his legs out. "You first."

"What?"

"You wanna know who I am, you tell me who you are first."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"How do I know _I_ can trust _you_?" Joe asked reasonably.

There was a pause. Joe hummed the refrain to "Who the Hell Do You Think You Are."

"Special Agent Fox Mulder," the voice said, reluctantly. "FBI."

"Really? I'm Inspector Joe Dickens. Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"RCMP? What are you doing here? This is completely out of your jurisdiction."

"Where exactly do you think you are?"

"Umm... Antarctica?" Mulder said tentatively.

"Americans. Fuck, it's not _that_ cold here."

"Well, then, where are we?"

"Somewhere north of Deadmonton."

"Where's that?"

"Fuck. _Americans_."

*

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"You know I never joke, Blair."

Blair stared with dismay at the savage, hairy, _growling_ man lying bound with metal restraints to a steel examination table. He stood with Brackett on the other side of a one-way mirror, watching white-jacketed scientists cautiously approach the beast-man and give him some sort of an injection. "What the hell are you drugging him with?"

"Sedatives. Anti-psychotics. Muscle relaxants," Brackett responded without turning away from the one-way mirror.

"And exactly _how_ am I supposed to be able to guide a Sentinel who's been drugged into drooling idiocy?"

"It's for your own protection. Trust me. It-- he-- managed to rip a lab tech into little bloody pieces the last time we let the drug cocktail wear off. Messy," Brackett said, wrinkling his nose.

"You're serious."

"I never joke, Blair," Brackett said. He smiled at the look on Blair's face. "You'll figure out a way to guide Mr. Logan. I have the utmost faith in your abilities."

"And if I don't?"

"Your new friend-- Joe Dick? He'll be meeting Mr. Logan without the protection of drugs. Or restraints."

 _the end, unfortunately..._

* * *


End file.
